


If One Is Dead

by WhackyJob



Series: Two Can Keep A Secret [1]
Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-07
Updated: 2015-12-14
Packaged: 2018-05-05 13:39:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5377274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhackyJob/pseuds/WhackyJob
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The characters of TCKAS get their own shorts! Meet Ricky, Rita, Ren, Pavlo, Helena, Erik, Rowan, Malik, and Lorena in their short oneshots! See who they care for! Look into their past! Meet them for the first time!</p>
<p>It's Meet the New Crew time, babies!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ricky Tatham - Scout

"What the hell do you mean by THAT, shorty!?"

"It means, /Richard/, that you need to shut your mouth."

Said "Richard" growled and gritted his teeth to keep from screaming at his teammate. He hated when Ren started going "Alpha male", as he liked to call it. Ren could be such an asshole when he wanted to be, and there was no way around such dicky-ness. Especially when Ricky himself wasn't having a good day.

"No, it means that YOU should shut YOUR trap! Why should I have to listen to a rotten, narcissistic old fart like you!? You never treat me with any decency! No respect! Why the fuck should I listen to you!?" Ricky shouted, swearing like a sailor at the man who was almost fifteen years older than him. Ren was completely silent, waiting a minute before he spoke.

"Because you don't deserve my respect in the first place." 

Ricky froze at this, staring up at Ren before trying to size him up. Ricky squared his shoulders, stood up straight, and glared at the Japanese man in the eye. Ricky and Ren were relatively close in height, about 5'7 and 5'9 respectively. 

Ricky had his red t-shirt on, the jogging shoes emblem on each sleeve. He had a knee brace on his left knee and an ankle brace on his right ankle, and he was wearing shorts that went a bit farther down his knees. He had black running sneakers on, and on his cheek there were two bandaids in the formation of a square from a cut that had occurred just that day in the match. Ricky was lanky, with sandy blond hair and dull blue eyes, and he was even a bit shorter in comparison to his colleagues, but Ren knew not to underestimate his fast paced teammate. It was obvious that Ricky was angry, and if anyone pushed him too far off the edge, Ricky was a fierce enemy that could help you get a date with the floor with two hands behind his back. Ricky watched Ren carefully, taking in his teammate's uniform with caution. 

Ren was taller than him, sure, but otherwise he didn't seem too threatening. Ren had a red jumpsuit on, with straps that hooked under his arms and across his chest. They were straps to hold a propane tank for his flamethrower, but the weapon was nowhere in sight. Thank god. Ricky had run into the BLU Pyro way too many times to not be afraid of that dreaded tool of death. Ren had clear goggles over his eyes, and his black hair was shaved on the right side. Which was odd, considering the burn marks on the left side of his face. Ren had a gas mask covering his nose and mouth, and his dark brown eyes were studying him as well. Ricky knew not to mess with Ren when he was angry. He could be as fiery as his flamethrower, and had a temper to match a solar flare. Fire puns aside, Ren could be a scary motherfucker.

Ricky huffed at his "friend", then turned around and walked away. It just wasn't worth it in Ricky's book. Ren was trying to call him back, to taunt him some more, but Ricky tried to just ignore him. He needed to get to Erik's workshop, yeah, that would be okay. He'd be fine there.

A few minutes went by as Ricky stood in front of the door to the Engineer, hesitant to enter. Ricky hated bugging people, but what else could he do? Deal with this on his own? Ren could actually terrify Ricky when he chose to. Or when he threatened to douse him with fire. That always sucked. Deciding to ignore his doubt, Ricky knocked on the wooden door swiftly. And quite loud, too.

There was the clank of metal against linoleum, a startled and incoherent cuss word from someone who clearly wasn't speaking English, and soft steps towards the door.

Said door opened up to a short, pale man with white hair and striking crimson eyes.

To anyone else this would seem to be one of the oddest(And in some cases scariest) occurrences in someone’s life, but for Ricky it was a daily event. Erik Kay was the second youngest of the team of mercs, but he was by far one of the most mature. Erik was an albino, and he had been singled out by most of the people in his home country of Denmark as the one weird kid who never got picked for dodgeball. Due to this, he took company in his little “toys”, as some would say. Yeah, he stuck his face in his sentry guns and his dispensers, but he was damn well valuable when he really got going. Erik’s hair was a bit longer than most, and it liked to get in the way of his sight when he bent over a machine. So he had tied it back in a sort of “man ponytail”, like their team’s soldier would say. His goggles were almost always on his head, almost like sunglasses, and his dark red overalls were off of his shoulders with the straps tied around his waist. This was mostly because it was their day off, but Ricky knew it was because it was the most comfortable for him. Underneath the overalls was a red t-shirt with his class emblem on both sleeves. Ricky sometimes got lost in Erik’s eyes, just for the sheer fact that he had never been around someone with anything like albinism, and-

Oh. Erik was talking.

Ricky unconsciously nodded, jolted out of his thoughts as he got back into the conversation. Erik had probably said something along the lines of “Hello Ricky, what are you doing here?” Erik’s English was usually very good, but when he was tired or startled he would forget that he was in a foreign country. Which meant it would usually be a lot of Danish conversation or some slang terms in said language, and someone would have to pull him back into English. Ricky, now back into the world of social interaction, sighed and looked down. “Ren.” 

That was all it took for Erik to understand.

The engineer laughed softly, then patted Ricky’s shoulder and led him into his workshop. It was a bit messier than it had been the last time he was in the shop. Which was surprising, considering the fact that the last time Ricky had been in the room it had been two days prior. Erik cleared off a chair and placed the items onto one of his multiple work benches, and Ricky noted that it was a stack of blueprints for different upgrades of sentries and dispensers. The scout sat down and slouched over, finally relaxing after about ten minutes of intense, stressful interactions with his teammate. Erik pulled up his swivel chair and sat down across from Ricky.

“Now, tell me what happened. Maybe I could help you out with some of your problems.”

 

\---------------------------

Five hours.

Practically five hours of talking to a spur of the moment psychiatrist. And he felt good, surprisingly.

Ricky smiled as he walked back to his room, playing with the yoyo he had pulled out of his pocket a few minutes prior. Erik was exactly what he needed at the point, he was a natural at this whole “listening” thing. It was a wonder that he didn’t get lost in Ricky’s slang terms, but he kept up with him. He even payed attention while he was playing with a few bits of metal to keep his hands busy.

The scout looked around the hall, seeing that he was alone, then smiled even wider and flicked his wrist. The dark green yoyo rolled down to the floor, going at a breakneck pace as it spun like a fan. The string let loose, the sound of paper ripping hitting Ricky’s ears. Perfect. Ricky flicked his wrist up once again, and the yoyo came right up to his hand with the same speed. He repeated this action again and again as he made his way to his dorm, remembering the person he had gotten it from. 

There had been an old, homeless man that sat outside of his Pa’s shop, and his house, back in Ohio. Ricky saw the man every single day, passed him on his way to school, and when he came home from his usual track practice. The man was gangly and seemed to have a rough time walking, but whenever he saw Ricky he seemed to brighten up, and he always pulled out the dark green yoyo and flick it up and down. Every day, nonstop.

One Saturday morning, though, that all changed.

Ricky was headed to a track meet at his school, bag slung over shoulder and running shoes on his feet, when there were tires screeching and people screaming. Ricky instantly panicked, running to an alleyway and waiting for whatever crashed to just crash already. The tires stopped, people were running around, and someone shouted “CALL 9-11!”. It hadn’t registered to Ricky that someone had been hit, until he stepped away from the alley and looked around.

Seemingly flung to the side by the car, laid the old man who sat outside the shop. Ricky instantly ran to his side, eyes wide and tears flying. The man was just barely conscious, face filled with pain and agony. But, like every other day, when he saw Ricky, a smile crept onto his face. But it was sad. So very sad. The man pulled something out of his pocket, and placed it in Ricky’s hand before he took his final breath.

Ricky didn’t open his hand until he got to the hospital.

And he certainly didn’t look at the toy until about a week later.

 

The scout sighed, then continued playing with the yoyo as he made his way to his room. There were specific hallways for the sets of classes, one for Offense, one for Defence, and one for Support. Ricky went down the Offense hallway and entered the first door on his left, shutting it and walking over to his bed. He sat down and sighed, then put the yoyo on his bedside table and moved to lay down.

It had been a long day.


	2. Rita Adelita - Soldier

She was up to it again.

And to be honest? It was cute.

Rita grinned, watching Helena from afar. The other wasn’t paying attention to the staring, only focusing on cleaning off the barrel of her minigun. Helena was one of the newer members of the RED team, and took the position of Heavy Weapons Specialist after the old guy started missing his precious sisters. Or maybe there was something else wrong. Rita didn’t know.

Or care, because now she could stare at the hottie across the room.

The brunette leaned her head on her arm, sitting down at the table in the dining room. Of course, since today was one of their days off, Rita wasn’t in her uniform. Not completely, anyway. She did go to train for a while in the exercise room, and she usually practiced in a pair of sweatpants with her RED soldier jacket tied around her waist. Instead of that with a white tank top, though, she had the jacket on. There was a solid line of a back brace around her abdomen, but one would have to look for it in order to notice it with her black sweatpants. Rita’s hair was short and curly, but she had it tied back in a white and red spotted bandana anyways. On her feet were black combat boots, and she had black arm guards on her wrists. Chestnut brown eyes continued to watch Helena, completely mesmerized by the American beauty that was idly scrubbing the grime off of the minigun commonly known to the team as Jasper-

OH SHIT SHE SAW.

Rita practically knocked her chair over when she saw Helena look up at her from her cleaning, the Spanish girl turning away in a frantic tizzy. Helena shrugged it off, completely oblivious as usual. Rita glanced back over at her after a minute or two, and saw that Helena was finishing up with her cleaning. Thank goodness, that could’ve ended badly. Rita hated how Helena made her feel like a twelve year old with the biggest crush on the most popular kid ever. Rita was 35 for God’s sakes! But there was just something about Helena, something that changed how she socialized. Maybe it was the way she fought in battle, or maybe the way she always wore tank tops to show off her muscles, or even the way she always got grime on her cheek one way or another from cleaning her gun, it just set Rita on edge.

And she couldn’t help but love it.

Helena herself was taller than Rita, by about a foot. She was incredibly strong, strong enough to carry both Pavlo and Malik at once, and it was very clear that she liked it that way. From what Rita could tell, she had grown up somewhere in New England, and her father probably had some sort of company that involved lifting things. How else could Helena be so strong? Rita watched as Helena started packing up her stuff, putting a rag on the pocket of her pants as she picked up her minigun. Like Rita, Helena also had brown hair, but it was much darker, much longer, and in a braid instead of a bandana. It was a charming look, if Rita was asked. Luckily, she wasn’t, or else she would probably go on about it all day. Around the Heavy’s neck was a chain with two dog tags for the US Army, something that puzzled Rita constantly. Where did she get those? Rita had even asked Lorena, and the spy couldn’t find out anything with the resources she had. It was mysterious.

Helena looked over at Rita and waited for her to look over again, the soldier pausing before smiling and waving. Helena grinned and put the minigun at the doorway, then walked over to sit across from Rita. Inwardly, Rita cringed and cursed in Spanish. Why did she have to come over now of all times? Helena pulled the rag out of her pocket again and looked at Rita.

“Um, hey. Do I have something on my face? I can’t tell.” Oh god, she was asking for help. Rita nodded, seeing the smudge of black across her cheek. She took the rag from Helena and leaned over the table to clean it up. Of course, her palm brushed Helena’s skin, and Rita instantly flinched. Her skin was so soft… Rita spaced out for a minute, not noticing that Helena was talking as Rita stared into her eyes. They were a gorgeous, royal blue. How could someone have eyes as clear as those? It puzzled Rita to no end, and she could’ve stared for hours into those beautiful blue orbs.

Until Helena shook her from her daze.

Rita flinched away, eyes wide as she looked at Helena again. “U-Uh...Hi?” Helena gave her a worried glance, hand on her comrade’s shoulder as she took the rag from Rita’s hand.

“Are you alright? You spaced out wicked bad! Do you need to go see Rowan?” Rita instantly winced at that, shaking her head. 

“No, no, I’m fine. I guess I’m just tired, chica. Don’t worry yourself over me.” Rita grinned her usual grin, trying to ignore the heat spreading across her cheeks from embarrassment, but Helena still wasn’t convinced.

“I dunno, Rita...You’ve been acting kinda weird lately…” Helena murmured, frowning.

“What? What do you mean by that?” Rita asked, confused. And also scared. What if she was catching on?

“You’ve been staring off into space a lot the past few days, and I think you’ve been staring at me? Are you getting enough sleep? Maybe you need water?” Rita cringed, shaking her head.

“Well, I’m sorry for staring, but I guess I don’t get enough sleep most nights. It’s only that, Querido*.” Rita breathed, smiling a little gentler than before. That seemed to satisfy Helena for the time being, the New Englander nodding in understanding. 

“Oh, alright then.” Rita reached for the cloth again.

“Here, let me take care of the sm...sm...mancha**.” Rita struggled, trying to find the right word in English. Helena chuckled softly at that, then nodded and closed her eyes in order to keep the rag out of her eyes. This was enough to give Rita some peace in order to finish the task of cleaning up her cheek, taking a deep breath as she did. After she was done, she put the rag back in Helena’s hands, then sat back into her seat. Helena grinned and opened her eyesz to look at Rita, then nodded. “Thanks!”

“De nada.” And with that, Helena got up and left.

Taking Rita’s heart with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Querido is Darling, according to google translate
> 
> ** mancha is stain according to google translate


End file.
